


The Piano

by amycooper



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9873251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycooper/pseuds/amycooper
Summary: John gives Rodney a piano as an early birthday present.  Please note that this is more a Rodney McKay piece than a McShep piece, though the two are definitely married in this fic.





	

For the first week Rodney didn’t touch it.

 

The baby grand arrived as an early birthday present, complete with a giant red bow beamed directly into their apartment.  Rodney never learned how John managed to get it brought over on the Daedulus, but argued that John shouldn’t have bothered.  He hadn’t played since he was twelve.  It stood  untouched and unspoken of  in the corner of their living room.  After the first couple of days John began to give the piano and Rodney significant glances over his coffee.  The second morning he did it, Rodney stole a whole fork full of homefries causing John to pout.  Rodney gave a self-satisfied grin.  That ended the pointed looks.

 

John left early on the morning of Rodney’s birthday.  The two had plans for the evening and John wanted to get a head start so he could get off early.  Life was calmer on Atlantis nowadays.  With the Wraith beaten back and all but eliminated as threat, SGC allowed more personnel into the city and family units began to form.  John and Rodney had found a plush apartment shortly after DADT was repealed, which as it so happened surprised absolutely no one.  AR-1 still went out and had a number of exciting (Rodney called them terrifying) missions, but all and all, things were calmer, more relaxed.  John’s administrative duties increased and Rodney had more time for innovation.

 

As Rodney pondered over his projects for the day over another cup of coffee, he found himself staring at the piano.  Almost without thinking, he found himself putting the cup down and walking towards it, reaching out, hesitantly caressing its shiny surface.

 

Rodney’s fingers slowly ghosted over the keys watching his hands as if mesmerized. 

 

And then, a note.

 

Rodney startled and looked around.

 

Then, ever so slowly, he reached out and played a halting “Hot Cross Buns.”  He played it again.  By the third time he was feeling more confident so he moved on to Bach’s “Prelude to the Well Tempered Chavichord.”  Edward McDowell’s “To a Wild Rose” followed and, still playing it safe, he followed that up with Strauss’s “The Blue Danube.”

 

Rodney paused, his heart beating in his chest.  He was doing it.  He was actually doing it!  His fingers were a bit stiff, after all it had been so long, but the memory of movement, the timing...he wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought he’d be.  Maybe, maybe if he waited until John left every day and then spent fifteen minutes practicing before he went to the labs, by the end of the month he’d be presentable enough to-

 

Rodney frowned.  Was someone at the door?  He stood and turned just to see a piece of paper being pushed in from under the door.  His stomach dropped.  They could hear him.  They could hear him play from outside his apartment and they hated it.  Who could blame them?  He was horrible.  He hadn’t played since he was a kid.  He never should have touched the piano.  What was he thinking?

 

He stood up and stiffly walked over, grabbing the offending piece of paper, his mind forming an argument against his unknown critic already-clearly they have no appreciation for the classics.  Yes, that’s what he’ll say.  And he won’t touch the piano again.  Never.  

 

Just before he could crinkled the paper though, he stopped.  And stared.  It read:

 

“I humbly request to the pianist:

Liebestraum no. 3 in A flat.”

 

Rodney’s mouth opened a closed a few times.  He rubbed his eyes and re-read the message, then turned over the paper but it was blank on the other side.  And it wasn’t John.  He’d recommend the handwriting and, hell, didn’t know enough about classical music to make the request in the first place.

 

Rodney slowly made his way to his tablet and pulled up the needed data, than balanced it on the piano, cracked his knuckles and began to play.

 

He found himself lost in the mathematics of it all, the science of sound, the beauty.  His fingers found their place and the world became a floating mathematical construct where everything fit perfectly.  He flowed with the music.  And when he stopped and his hands stilled almost of their own accord, the applause erupted.  

  
Shocked, Rodney went to the balcony.  All around him, the citizens of Altantis were standing on their own, applauding and cheering.  Three floors above, John looked down at him, obviously swelling with pride.  Rodney wiped away a tear from his eye and took his bow.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone want to guess who wrote the note?


End file.
